


Boats & Birds

by AlphaMercy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-07 08:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8790649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaMercy/pseuds/AlphaMercy
Summary: A mercykill drabble series about a man and his saving grace, a doctor and her shadow, and two people who love each other ruthlessly, totally, endlessly.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a wip, I'm open to suggestions

She sighs, feeling like she’s missing something. But she can’t tell what. Wings shift and flutter in annoyance, flaring up a bit until a hand comes to rest in between, landing lightly on her upper back. 

She doesn't glance back, but tension seeps out of her, swirling away like draining water. Metallic wings shift again, fluttering as they settle. And sh _ e breathes _ .

The hand is a comforting weight, soft footsteps bring body heat closer to her, and she leans back, head brushing against an armored chest. He's quiet, hand moving to a shoulder, brushing hair out of the way. She can feel through her suit, even if only just. He's firm behind her, quiet breaths syncing in beats known only to them 

“You shouldn't work so late.” His voice is soft and raspy, like smoke curling around rough wood. His fingers flex and the tips of clawed gloves dig into her shoulder. What should be threatening is comforting and she can't find it in herself to be alarmed. 

“And you shouldn't be here. Yet you are. So I will.” A playful tone for serious words. She's always found that how it works best for them. Her wings flutter gently again as she tilts her head back, looking up into his scarred face. 

It was handsome still, accentuated by the scars, wisps of black smoke drifting off him randomly. His skin was darker than usual in the soft light of the lab, shadows mixing in with the smoke. His eyes were hard, and yet—there was something inviting about them. There always had been to her. Black hair fell in a curly disarray, longer than when she had last seen it. Scars, pale and thin, stretched out along cheekbones and under his chin. She reaches up, hand trailing down one, pausing to sweep a piece of hair to the side. He leaned into the touch, head tilting forwards slightly.

“You look tired. Have you slept at all?” He hisses, eyes half shut.

“Some,” she replies, gazing up at him, “and you look dead, when was the last time you slept, Gabriel?” Her tone is both playful and stern, the use of his full name a shock, yet not.

He only grunts, shaking his head and leaning down, before lifting her up so she stands, still inches shorter than he.

“That’s not a reply, but an answer of it’s own, I guess.” She makes no move to struggle, willingly putting her life in the hands of death incarnate. She loves him, and he knows that. She knows that he would do his best to never hurt her, even with razor claws and sharper words.

“You never quit.” It’s quiet, muttered into her hair, but she only smiles softly, grasping his hand and leading him down the well memorized path to the bedroom off the lab, put in when the rest of the team realized that she fell asleep in there more often than not.

The door creeks open in the dark, shafts of dim light flooding the small space. The bed isn’t very big, but it’s enough for the both of them. She tugs him in further, pushing him to sit. He does, not one protest leaving scarred lips.

She starts to hum, a soft melody known only to the two of them. He sighs, and she intertwines their hands, taking care not to cut herself on razor gloves. Like claws of volcanic glass, she threads between slim digits, danger pulsing with each breath. But there is no trouble, he is still and compliant where he sits, dark eyes half lidded and staring up at her. 

So, she pulls them off, oh so gently, and sets one glove to the side before repeating the gesture. Still, he makes no move, watching as she slowly slips the outer layer of her suit off, gently lowering it to the ground off to the side.

He lifts a hand, rough fingers running up her side, the slightest shiver crossing her body as he does. “You’ve lost weight, Angela.”

“Mm, that I have. Rations are….not doing so well at the moment.” She replies, gently sitting next to him, her head landing on his shoulder.

“So you gave up yours?” He scoffs, no real venom behind it.

“Not entirely. It’s just— _ smaller _ .”

“Uh huh.” But he doesn’t comment again, instead falling backwards and dragging her down with him so they lie there, curled into one another on the small bed. The dim glow from the lab falls onto them in strips of dull yellow, highlighting pieces but not all.

The next morning came with a rush and “Doctor Ziegler, not again!” from one of her assistants

All she did was smile sheepishly in reply and touch the small owl feather in her pocket.

Two days later and a delivery of food appeared out of the night, another small feather attached to the note that simply read “Try not to starve this time.”


	2. two

He grasps at his side, blood leaking out between stained claws, evaporating into black smoke before it can ever reach the ground. He grunts, sliding down the wall of a dark alleyway, the acrid stench the smoke of his work burning his nose; just another pain to add to his list.

The screaming has died down now, more the hustle of post-battle and the sobbing of those in shock. His head tilts back, staring up at the dark, half obscured sky and wondered if he’d die here, finally. Or maybe someone would find him before he bleeds out, and put a bullet in his brain. 

Just as he starts to ponder if a bullet to the head would  _ really  _ kill him, he hears the soft clacking of footsteps. More specifically, the sound of heels on uneven ground. She always found him, he should know this by now. And yet he finds himself surprised  _ again _ that she’s tracked him down, soft smile on her face, and the soft glowing of her wings trailing behind her like a cloak.

Blonde hair is mussed, and there’s dirt and probably dried blood caking her hands, the Valkyrie Suit protecting her from the risk. 

“Verdammt, Gabe. This is worse than last time. Can you move?” She asks, all soft words and kind eyes. He wants to scream at her, tell her he’s not some damn charity case, that he can fucking take care of himself.

Instead, he sighs and moves his body slowly, painfully. He shifts into a position that he’s taken a thousand and one times before, giving her the best access to his wounds as he can. She tries to rub some of the crud off her hands, finally conceding after a minute and pulling out some sort of liquid from the hollow inside of her boots, rinsing her hands off.

He watches her, eyebrows drawn in concentration, mouth tilted slightly down to the side, eyes focusing on what was before her. He knows that face better than he knew his own.

It’s a face he holds dear, even if he won’t ever admit it even to himself in the depths of night. But yet he thinks of it anyways. And how sometimes she’ll bite her lip, or her tongue pokes out. He remembers how he used to tease her, joking around in the golden days. He’d poke her nose and watch it wrinkle it up, laughing as warmth rushed through him and she smiled at him,

Suddenly an emotion he can’t place swells up in his chest, and he finds himself short on breath as she moves her hands over his abdomen, carefully moving his hands and fiddling with his armor.

“I…” He’s really not sure what he intended to say, but he wants to say  _ something _ , especially with how those blueblueblue eyes focus on him, and he suddenly feels as if he can say one small word and she would think the world of him. “I’m sorry.” That’s what comes out, and he realizes with some sort of start he  _ means it _ . He’s not sure what he’s sorry for exactly; maybe what had just transpired, or maybe trying to kill her, or maybe even before that, for blaming her for all the wrong that had happened in his life since the explosion. He doesn’t know.

But she smiles that goddamned angelic soft smile she only ever has for him, and places a hand gently on his mask, where his cheek is.

“It’s okay Gabe, I forgive you.”

He blinks, unable to say much of anything, and nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another drabble, another time and place
> 
> my [tumblr](http://handsomejackisback.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!!  
> [my tumblr](http://handsomejackisback.tumblr.com)


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